


you're the only way to me

by Paula K (Homiless)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-08
Updated: 2011-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-25 20:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Homiless/pseuds/Paula%20K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Eames' relationship is just getting started before Arthur leaves w/ Dom pre-movie. Eames pines. Eames and Arthur work the Inception job together, seeing each other for the first time in nearly two years...</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're the only way to me

Eames doesn’t exactly plan on being in Paris at this particular time – he just sort of… winds up here. And it isn’t for a job and it isn’t because he’s on the run, either. It’s because he actually loves Paris but never seems to be able to come here because… Well, Arthur lives here. And right now Arthur is visiting Cobb in L.A. and Eames can enjoy a trip here without running into him anywhere. Of course, Paris is a huge city. There’s no real reason for him ever to come across Arthur’s path, but Eames would need an extra few hands if he ever needed to count the amount of times the two of them hadn’t planned on seeing each other and found each other anyway.

Eames sincerely doubts that that will ever change. There are parts the universe that actually don’t have a thing to do with him. He and Arthur on some strange trajectory through space and time seems to be one of them. And Eames has tried like hell to keep himself from gravitating toward the younger man, but how does one prevent them self from doing something they have no control over? It’s not like he’s consciously aware of the street Arthur might be shopping at on a drizzly London afternoon. Nor has he a clue why Arthur would ever consider wandering into the most ostentatious karaoke bar in Jakarta. Why the hell had he been in Indonesia, anyway, Eames wondered. Not that he ever asked – no matter that he hadn’t been looking for Arthur, finding him had always been delightful.

They’d found one another a couple of dozen times between jobs – they might go months without working together, but after the first five times or so of meeting up unexpectedly, Eames never wondered how long it might be before he’d see Arthur. Not that he ever started looking forward to it or anything. Alright, so maybe he did, but only… a lot.

Each time seemed to signify a new chance. Eames was already pretty creative at asking someone out, but with Arthur, he’d been forced to do better. It’s true; at first Eames was certain it was that Arthur didn’t take him seriously. Didn’t think his interest were genuine. But then Eames changed tactics. He stopped teasing about dalliances with others. He cut out shameless flirting with anyone whilst in and out of Arthur’s presence. Full stop, at that, which was bloody difficult, considering that after thirty-some years, he literally oozed charm. Still Arthur parried his every advance, leaving Eames to wallow in massive amounts self-pity.

Only once had Arthur ever let Eames think there might be something between them. They were so close, then. Eames doesn’t remember ever being happier, either. Arthur had been working with Miles, Mal and Cobb; advancing dream share to new heights. Cobb had invited Eames to come to L.A. – he said he had things he needed to show him. No amount of change would ever stamp out Eames’ curiosity and so he booked a flight. He wound up staying through the spring and he and Arthur were… something. Lovely, is what Eames would’ve liked to say about what they were, but then everything came to a very ugly end.

Mal killed herself. And Eames and Arthur, too, Eames thinks, no matter how awful he feels blaming her. Eames stayed through the funeral and would’ve stayed longer, no matter that Arthur had shut down nearly completely – seemingly only from Eames. But then there was the whole business with Cobb being accused of her murder and if Eames hadn’t already had a very good idea where he stood against Cobb, Arthur leaving with him to go on the run squared that away for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eighteen months later, though, brings Cobb to Mombasa and finds Eames has gotten up to his old tricks. Excessive gambling. Taking risky jobs with unreliable crews for considerably low pay. Drinking far too much far too often. Eames had taken himself home to Mombasa and stayed there for a long time. So long, in fact, that he’d mostly forgotten about Arthur. And all of his loveliness. His high cheekbones and Cupid’s bow lips. His frustrated sighs and unmatched hatred for anything remotely unprofessional. His penchant for shooting people in the head and everything else that made Arthur someone Eames found total and utter perfection.  
Certainly, he’d forgotten about Arthur. Mostly, anyway. Or not at all, but who was keeping track of the sort of rubbish that is broken hearts? Taking the Inception job seemed completely logical, actually. Especially after meeting with Saito and having his fee negotiated. Eames was in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

LAX was busy. Not that Eames cared much – he wasn’t staying there long. He’d already booked a flight back to Mombasa – seeing Arthur… being with him again hadn’t done anything but remind him of what he’d come so close to having. Arthur was still everything Eames wanted, even if he wasn’t the same. He was harder. Tougher now, after taking on this roguish lifestyle. Cobb’s changed, too, Eames knows, but Cobb isn’t Eames’… well…. Cobb isn’t Eames’ anything, really. An employer? No, too cold. Not for what they’ve been through together. A friend? Maybe too warm, Eames thinks as he fidgets with his luggage. Just because he’s leaving out the door just to come back in doesn’t mean that he’s not determined to be foolish. He was sure that he and Arthur maybe had a moment, but… what of it? He was done, wasn’t he?

Ariadne and Arthur are talking as Eames walks past. He goes through immigration and then keeps going, not turning when he thinks he hears Arthur’s voice behind him. It’s not like Arthur’s trying to get his attention, after all. He’s just talking and in the middle of a very crowded airport where everything is noise and bustle, he can hear the dulcet baritone of Arthur’s voice. He knows the cadence and the timber and he’s about to turn the corner and head back to the ticket counters on the other side of the airport, but maybe if he waits, Arthur will say something… anything about finally being done with this fiasco that had become Cobb’s life-mare. He moves slowly, though, and even catches Ariadne’s smile as he finally has no choice of which way to go. So he chooses. He chooses home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The flight to Mombasa is long and the cost of the ticket had been obscene, but Eames is glad to be back in Kenya. Glad to be where the sun is hot enough that it might just bake the Arthur right out of him. He’s never run into Arthur here, no matter how long he’s stayed, so this is the perfect place for him. He heads to his flat, checking his phone and finding texts from Yusuf asking him to check in on his ‘den of sin’. Eames smiles at that, nodding even though Yusuf can’t see him. He’s staying in L.A. for a few days but will be back next week, which for some reason makes Eames feel very pleasant inside. Life, he thinks, will be normal again – whatever normal is.

Once he’s set his luggage down, he immediately opens all the windows and the French doors, too, wanting as much fresh air coming in as possible. It’s nearly ten o’clock in the evening and finally it’s cool outside. He heads into his bedroom to pull off the suit he’d been wearing for nearly 24 hours. He was too tired to shower just yet, so he slipped into his favorite orange flowered board shorts and an old Smiths tee shirt he knew was too small but would never get rid of. He can see the swell of the ocean from where he’s standing when his mobile rings – the one that has a number only his family knows and that he leaves on his counter plugged in so the charge won’t die down between calls. He answers on the third ring, smiling already because he loves his Mum, doesn’t he, and she loves him back despite every awful thing he’s ever done.

“No mum, I’m not busy,” he starts, and he keeps smiling as he heats the water and makes a cuppa and grabs a box of biscuits from the cupboard. He straddles the stool at the kitchen island and munches as he gets the news from back home in London, grinning all the while. Finally the conversation dwindles down to the finish, ending always in the way his mother likes best.

“Aren’t you settled in with anyone yet, my love? You know you’re not getting any younger, darling, and you’re certainly not fooling me with all the nonsense about not wanting to be tied up with anyone. You’re not the type to be alone – you’re like your mum that way,” she tells him, and Eames’ smile falters for the first time, thinking of Arthur. He’s about to tell her to bugger off and let him alone, but then…

“Mum, I’ll… I’ll call you back, alright? Tomorrow? Something’s come up and… I’ve got to go, alright?” he says softly, but in a tone that must convey that he’s serious – not just trying to avoid her questions. She lets him go and Eames sets the phone down, staring out the French doors to the patio just outside.

Arthur. Blinking, Eames reaches immediately for his totem, feeling the edges and the weight of it and realizing that this is reality. And that, yes, Arthur is really just outside his door and that Arthur is… real.

And so is the hurt, Eames realizes. The pain. The angry redness of seeing him standing there lit only by Eames’ porch light is sitting right behind his eyes. He doesn’t even realize he’s rubbing that spot right there on his forehead as he stands and moves to the doorway. He doesn’t even know what to say, really, he just stares at Arthur, who is carrying his shoes in one hand and his laptop in the other. Over his shoulder is his $5000 Armani jacket and Arthur’s waistcoat is unbuttoned and his tie… is tucked into the side pocket of his laptop bag. He looks positively rumpled. And that’s when Eames knows what else is here between them. Yes, he’s still hurt. And he’s still angry, too. And he’s furious and feeling betrayed, too, but he’d be damned if the love he feels for Arthur doesn’t trump all that to hell.  
He’s taking in every inch of the man before him. The man whose expression is, for once, not all that impossible to read. Arthur looks tired. And he’s got part of his mouth turned up in the sort of smile he might give a skittish animal. He looks a bit torn between pensive and inquisitive – clearly he’s waiting on Eames’ reaction to him – but mostly, Eames thinks he looks beautiful.

Leaning on the frame of the door, Eames folds his arms over his broad chest and swallows before licking his lips and starting.  
“Fancy meeting you here, darling,” he says, giving Arthur a small nod, watching how Arthur’s eyes go a bit soft around the edges.

“You know, we used to have a habit of meeting up in the oddest places. Guess some things never change,” and the end of Arthur’s sentence is more of a question than a statement – like he’s hopeful as hell that Eames might play along in a game that hasn’t been played in a long time.

“Yes, well… of all the gin joints and all that,” Eames says, agreeing after a long moment. “I don’t believe we’ve ever come across one another here, though. Are you… sightseeing?” Eames asks, still keeping his arms around himself – it’s as if he’s trying to protect himself from what all this might mean.

“Actually, I’m looking at real estate. In fact, there’s a flat I’m hoping has a little space for me. Right here, of all places,” Arthur says, tilting his head a little, feeling Eames out, still hoping.

Eames knows what Arthur could do to him. In less than a heartbeat, he could destroy him. He could level him with one gaze. One click of a door closing. There’s really no one else in the world that can do what Arthur can do to him. And there’s no one else in the world who can love Eames better, too – Eames has known that for years. So it’s now or never, he thinks, hoping this isn’t going to end him again.

“Well, as it happens… This particular flat has some space to let. But… you’d need to be sincere, you know? Going off all willy-nilly just won’t do. I’d… need to trust you to stick around for longer than a few weeks, you know,” Eames says, arms looser now, sliding down to his sides.

“Well, I know I haven’t exactly come across as reliable in the past, but I really think I’m ready to handle something long-term. I mean, I know it’ll take some faith, and I’m willing to earn whatever trust you feel you can offer me after the last time we… But if it helps, and I’m not saying it will, well… I’m having all my suits shipped over to this address. And all of my guns,” Arthur says quietly. His half smile grows wider with each expression passing over Eames’ face. Disbelief morphing into confusion sliding into more of a dumbfounded shock-filled smile.

“Darling… Seriously? Your guns?” Eames asks incredulously, moving away from the doorway finally, and stepping into Arthur’s space. “You’re... really serious about this, then… About us,” Eames says more than asks, reaching out a tentative hand to Arthur’s cheek. The awe-filled gasp he lets out when Arthur leans into his touch is more than enough for Arthur to drop his bags and move in even closer, arms going around Eames’ neck and face pressing against his rough cheek.

“So what do you think, Mr. Eames? Can I come live with you? You know… you know I want to be someone you can trust in. I want you to have faith in me that I won’t leave you. Not again. Not ever, Eames… No matter what, I swear it. Do you think you can trust me?” Arthur whispers, already tightening his hold on Eames’ neck, molding his body to Eames’, waiting until he finally feels Eames’ arms come round him, too.

“Arthur… I…,” Eames starts, but he knows there’s no point. Why say anything but yes when all Eames wants is to gather Arthur up in his arms and carrying him into the rest of his life. “Before… Well, that was really hard,” Eames says instead, looking into Arthur’s face, seeing the pain there, too – the regret that is written all over his pale face. Eames reaches up to smooth away the sadness there, his thumb resting against Arthur’s temple and his fingers buried in his soft hair. “But as hard as it was to lose you, I know there’s nothing I have in this world that I wouldn’t give to have you back. You’re stuck with a sappy bastard, I’m afraid – not that anyone would ever guess it, I’m sure. But it’s true – all of it. I’d risk anything for you, darling – even my own heart,” he murmurs, tilting Arthur’s head just a little, staring into his dark brown eyes that are so sincere.

Leaning in, Eames kisses him for the first time in nearly two years. And yes, things between them are different. Arthur’s changed. Eames’ changed, too. But some things stay the same and everything about the way this feels – Arthur’s taste, his lips, his smell, his skin - it’s all the same. And like every other time that Eames has ever been lucky enough to kiss Arthur, all he can think about is wanting more.  
It’s not all that long by their standards, Eames thinks, as they pull apart, both breathless and a little shaky, but he also doesn’t get very far before Arthur’s hauling him in again for another. And another. It’s only when Arthur’s lips are satisfactorily kiss-swollen that Eames finally presses a hand to Arthur’s chest, holding up a finger.

“One second now, love,” he says, having a plan and needing a second to get things in place. He pulls Arthur’s laptop case over his shoulder and grabs Arthur’s shoes with the other, handing them to him. “You hold these, alright?” he tells him, reassuring Arthur with a little nod of approval. Once his shoes are tucked away, Eames moves closer again, this time sliding one hand around Arthur’s back and the other one down so that…

“Upsy-daisy, you,” he says, now with an armful of Arthur to carry over the threshold. “That’s… not official, by the way. At least, not by any legal standard. One day, maybe, though, if you so desire, I’ll do that for real. This… this is just to get you inside. And before you ask, the answer is no, I have never offered that particular service to any other visitor. Not even Yusuf at his drunkest,” Eames says, feeling giddy and happy with Arthur pressed in close to his chest.  
As much as Arthur might like a chatty Eames, who has promised a more thorough tour of their humble abode sometime later, he manages to kiss him well enough to quiet him as they make their way down a hallway to Eames’ bedroom. Once there, it seems talking isn’t a necessity – it seems they have an older, more familiar way of communicating and both of them have plenty to say.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Just Say Yes by Snow Patrol - even though I was listening to Fix You by Coldplay nearly the entire time I was writing it. This song, though... it's fitting for this fic - it's dripping with schmoop!


End file.
